


Achromatic

by WhisperingOrchard



Category: RWBY
Genre: AU, Angst, Bad ending Au, F/M, Tragedy, in which ruby is a based off the Grim Reaper rather than LRRH, rosewick if you squint really hard, would that make her a... 'grimm reaper'?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingOrchard/pseuds/WhisperingOrchard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her wake walks Death itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Achromatic

**Author's Note:**

> This has no bearing in canon. And the only things I've written for RWBY are Neptune/Ren fics, which should tell you that I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm also terrible at summaries. Goodness me, I haven't written anything of substance in a year or so. Jeepers.
> 
> But, ayyyy, let us do this!

**Day 1**

“Roman Torchwick, have you found your peace?” 

When he wakes from shades of gray, Roman Torchwick is alone. 

As awareness nestles back into the crevices of his mind, he gazes around to evaluate the situation. What happened…? Where is he? A quick assessment of his surroundings indicates that… Frankly, he can identify neither. The ground beneath his body claws at him coldly, grainy sand and scratchy grass snaking their fingers across his skin. The sky above looms low in murky puffs and low grumbles—it would seem that a storm is brewing above. Wherever he is, it’s nowhere safe. 

Sighing deeply, he sits upright and reaches around for his cane— 

—and his eyes spot a small black boot. 

“You!” 

That voice… 

Perhaps Roman isn’t as alone as he previously thought. 

A single glance upward is all it takes to confirm his hunch. A long, lofty red scythe is hooked around his neck, mere millimeters from skin—poised to behead him at the slightest provocation. At the nonlethal end of the weapon are a familiar pair of slight gloved hands, and upwards from there is the all-too-familiar face of Ruby Rose. 

Familiar…? No, that isn’t the right term. The structure is hers, undoubtedly, though a bit less rounded with maturity. But her _face_ , the plastered essence of her everything leading up to this moment—that is entirely unfamiliar. Hard, ragged, tired. Is this truly the same thorn in his side from all those years ago? Perhaps the same thorn, yes, but the rose that once bloomed with it has long since wilted. It’s almost a little sad, and for him to admit that surely means something. 

“Red—” 

“Don’t—don’t move!” Her voice wavers only slightly as she lessens the distance between his throat and the inside of her scythe. Silver eyes plead beneath furrowed brows. “Really, though, please, don’t move.” 

At that, he blinks once, twice, before snorting out a single chuckle. Even if she has matured, it comforts him to know that some things in this world are static. “You make a convincing argument, Red. But if you’ll excuse me…” 

Now… Where is his cane? 

Ruby seems to catch on to his intention and tightens her grip on Crescent Rose. “It was eaten.” 

At that, Roman’s mouth opens for a moment, stunned silent, before speaking again. Clinging to his tone is that old snark he’d always used when speaking to her. “Y’know, you _might_ need to clarify. Are you saying you got hungry enough to…?” 

“… What?” She deadpans for a moment, but snaps herself back into reality long enough to shake her head incessantly at the notion. “No, a Nevermore got to it before I did.” 

“You sat by and watched a Nevermore eat my cane?” 

Her eyes narrow. “I mean, it was _kiiinda_ the cane or your leg.” 

“… Alright, you got me.” That makes him start. She saved him from a Grimm? Of all people, why would she…? Granted, he knows that she has a track record as a goody-goody, but even so… If he’s here now, at her mercy, should he really fear for his life at all? Even with Crescent Rose nearly shoved up against his neck, if she wanted him dead, wouldn’t she have left the Nevermore do the dirty deed? It doesn’t make any sense, unless she needs to use him for some reason or another. 

Maybe he could play this to his advantage? 

Shaking his head, Roman raises his hands in surrender. “Well, now what’re you gonna do, Red? I can’t fight back. And I’m more of a burden to you alive than dead, especially if there are Grimm.” 

As he speaks, her expression falters a little. Clearly, she has not thought this plan through to the end. That could be worked to his advantage as well. “Because it… isn’t your time yet?” 

He continues, a slight smirk playing at his lips. That was a bit cryptic, but he thinks little of it. She still lacks the sharp tongue or social skills that he has spent so many years perfecting. “Just think, Red. Pretty soon, I’m gonna be getting hungry. I’m gonna start complaining. I’m already at your mercy, which gives me a nasty anxiety fix. We’re sitting ducks out here, as long as I’m with you. A feast of human misery. I’m not about to let myself go out as a midmorning snack for a Griffon.” 

At that, her throat gives a little twitch in a thick swallow. He’s right, and he can tell that she knows it. She rubs her chin in thought for a moment before giving him a short nod. “Well, we oughta find shelter first. Follow me.” 

“With pleasure.” So it’s true, then. Ruby doesn’t have it in her to kill him with her bare hands, nor does she have the dignity to leave him for dead out here in the open, wherever they are. Despite his being her old nemesis, she won’t let him die when she could have prevented it. This could not have worked out better—well, aside from an alternative in which his cane is within reach. But little steps have brought him forth, and so they shall for the rest of his ramshackle life, he thinks. Now he just needs to get his hands on a weapon of some sort, wait for the chance to strike, and sneak off. 

Then again, he doesn’t have any means of defending himself, and there’s little chance he can lift that weighty scythe of hers… 

Never mind it all. He’ll figure it out along the way. 

Sparing an aggravated wolf? 

Little Red should know better. 

**Day 2**

It is agreed that they will take turns keeping watch from inside the abandoned cabin they found. 

Try as he may, Roman still cannot weasel out of her any information about the current situation. Perhaps she views it as revealing a weakness? Hell if he can read her. For being so fairly open emotionally, it seems she has garnered a knack for knowing when to keep her mouth shut. Guess that’s another thing that has changed with time, he thinks with a steady sigh. 

He lies down in the corner of the room, shuddering at the cold feeling of hardwood flooring against his cheek. Between his current situation and the lack of any substantial information on what the hell the current situation actually is, it’s safe to wager that he won’t be getting much sleep tonight. 

As Ruby strides slowly to the window, Roman cannot help but notice just how _ragged_ she is. How he only just noticed it, he cannot say, but it’s unmistakable; she has become the spitting image of what his life once was, all those years ago. Ghostly pallor, drained features—a body slowly eating itself alive, muscle by weakening muscle. He knows not what she has seen these past three years, nor what she has endured, but if her outward appearance is any indication, he can wager a few guesses. It’s a wonder she can even still lift that oversized scythe of hers… 

Nevertheless, it’s no concern of his. 

They exchange no spoken word the remainder of the night, and Roman gets no opportunity to run. 

He wakes with a single, thornless black rose tucked into the ribbon of his hat. 

**Day 5**

“—you don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

“Don’t know?” Roman’s visible eyebrow rises incredulously; he lifts a deteriorating brown paper bag and waves it in front of her face. The foul scent of old meat and slight rot lingers like death in the air around them, and it’s almost enough to make him gag. “Red, I’ve spent my whole life on the streets. I know what starvation looks like. Now, either you eat this, or I feed you and the sandwich to the Ursa I saw on the way here.” 

With a hardening glare, she swipes the bag from his hand and clutches it with trembling hands. “Oh, fine… But you’re getting whatever stinks in here!” 

“Anything is better than nothing,” he murmurs in response, mostly to himself. He grabs the bag of salami slices that she tosses his way. He had little interest in keeping her fed, but he really didn’t want to face the nearby Ursa if she got upset by his refusal to offer her anything. “Just don’t ask where I found it.” 

“… Right…” Ruby unwraps the sandwich, examining it for a moment before dubbing it safe enough to eat. The sight of her eager bite earns her a silent, small smirk from Roman, but she takes no notice. Instead, she wipes her mouth with the palm of her hand and leaves the majority of the sandwich beside her on the floor. 

Roman averts his eyes for a moment to gaze out the cabin window, noting the approximate time of day. Chewing in thought, he then peers in Ruby’s direction, once more fixating his attention on her. Something about her seems… off? Nervous, almost? Seems as good a time as any to probe her for questions; maybe she’ll let something slip. “Wanna tell me why I’m here yet?” 

His voice triggers a response in her fingers, he notes, as he watches them enclose around the hem of her skirt. “I… don’t know.” 

“Come on, Red, you’ve got more than that!” 

“No!” Ruby’s voice rises at the insinuation, a newfound fire set ablaze in her eyes. “I don’t! I don’t…” 

She breathes and reaches for Crescent Rose, lightly running her finger along the edge as she speaks again, recomposed. “I don’t know what you were doing there, honest. I found you out cold on the shore, and there was that Grimm... You don’t remember what you were doing there either? That’s weird.” 

At that, his eyes narrow distastefully. From the times they’ve interacted, while more nonverbal in nature, he doesn’t take her for a liar. That means Cinder probably dropped him off to die there or some other shit he isn’t paid enough for. Or paid for, _period_ , more often than not. He fishes into his coat pocket for a cigar—much to his dismay, only one remains. Well, shit. Better save that for a special occasion. “Then what were you doing there?” 

His question causes a brief interruption in her fidgeting; she turns fully toward him now, leaning forward a bit with a dubious expression. “You… care?” 

“Well, Red the way I see it, we have two options: listen to each other’s life problems, or go batshit crazy sitting in silence. Take your pick.” 

That seems to register with her fairly quickly, for she backs up again and retreats into herself for another moment. When her mouth opens, her hands settle clamped into her lap and her eyes take a keen interest in a lifted floorboard. “I was looking for someone.” 

“Someone?” 

“Jaune, mostly…” Fingernails dig crescent imprints in the sides of her hands; her teeth gnash together before allowing her to speak once more. “No one else is left. I… Things weren’t supposed to be this way... I wanted to be huntress to help people, just like those people in the storybooks I read as a kid. But first it was Pyrrha. Then Blake. And now, I…” 

She sighs again, and her face takes on an indiscernible expression. “I wanted to be like the characters in those stories. _This_ isn’t what I had in mind—” 

Her voice is cut short by an Ursa’s curve-clawed paw crashing through the window. 

**Day 23 (?)**

Roman Torchwick has fallen out of step with time. 

How long has it been since he got stuck with Red, with nowhere else to go? How long has it been since he thought about sneaking away, only to remember that he has no real home and nothing to defend himself with? How long has it been since he last ate anything of substance? How long will it be until his life fizzles out from existence like so many before him? Like Neo, Emerald, Mercury—? 

His stomach grumbles loudly in response, and he clutches it with a low groan. More than anything, he wants a hot meal and a chance to get away from this shrimp of a traveling companion. “Tell me we’re not too far from society.” 

“Well…” Ruby pulls the tattered map from what remains of her backpack. “We should be close to Haven in a few days. Or, what’s left of it.” 

At that, Roman groans lowly. He didn’t know they were in Mistral. Of all the dumpy places to be, well, _dumped— “Yeahhh_ , okay. You realize that means the moment we step foot in the city, I’m booking it.” 

Much to his confusion, the look she shoots him is not one of annoyance, nor is it one of surprise; rather, it reads far more akin to sadness, pity, _grief_ even. 

Roman has never been so confused, but for whatever reason, the light in those silver souls of hers makes him a little less willing to leave. 

**Day ???**

One more day. 

At least, that’s how Ruby has quantified the amount of time it will inevitably take to reach the nearest Mistral city. Roman, himself, has given up any semblance of hope he had in keeping track of time. He notes the passing of the sky above, the ever-changing temperatures, and yet—somehow, his chin has not grown a single fraction of hair, and Ruby herself has not changed in the slightest, despite having not eaten in almost a week. It is all very odd, and while it occurs to him to question these odd goings-on, he figures he isn’t going to get any more answers out of his traveling companion. 

He slumps to the ground that evening, exhaustion washing over him like a hot river bath. “Y’know, Red. You’re lucky that scythe of yours is so heavy. I would’ve stolen it from you a long time ago otherwise.” 

“It’s not _that_ heavy. Maybe your arms are just… puny.” She sticks her tongue out childishly and lightly taps him with the toe of her shoe. Ah, yes—that’s the Red he knows. Still, she surprises him yet again; kneeling down to his level on the ground, she cocks her head curiously at him, concern glinting gorgeously in her eyes. Silver eyes… Even he couldn’t deny there was something enticing about them. They were almost something of a commodity—something he would relish in stealing, if he were into the messier businesses. But he’s not, and frankly, that’s a bit disgusting. “Torchwick? You holding up?” 

“Define ‘holding up’.” 

“Um… Still up for the usual? You know, ‘lying, cheating, stealing, and surviving’, or whatever it is you said back then?” 

Roman doesn’t give her the satisfaction of an immediate response. Instead, he sits upright and leans back against the stone hillside, flicking his lighter on and off in boredom; he makes a face at the single black rose petal wedged in between the body and cover of the lighter. Damn things keep getting everywhere, and he can only imagine where they keep coming from. 

Much to his surprise, Ruby nears him still, lying beside him on her back and letting her enticing eyes slide slowly shut. A silence is shared between the two of them; mutual, wordless, and yet altogether comforting in itself. For once, there are no Grimm in immediate sight after their souls, nor are they, themselves, after the others’ death. At least, as far as Roman can tell—he has no means of killing her, and frankly, it no longer behooves him to do so. He never wanted involved in this mess with Cinder to begin with. He can only assume that Ruby wishes his living as well; otherwise, wouldn’t she have offed him a while back? 

Exhaling softly, he gazes up at the sunset splayed across the sky, a canvas of russet and mango and all manner of beautiful colors. 

For once in his life, he is at peace with his situation—and, perhaps, at peace with even himself. 

“I’ve _survived_ all my life.” At last, his lips part to answer her question. “Feels like I’m actually _living_ for a change. Not sure if that’s a good thing.” 

Ruby only grins toothily beside him. “You know, even if you’re a jerk, I wonder… Could we have been friends? Maybe in another life or something?” 

“Fat chance, but it’s not impossible.” 

That earns him a small giggle, followed shortly thereafter by a tiny, wavering “Guess I owe you an apology.” 

He finds it in his best interest to drop the conversation there; he can only take so much mush in one evening. Besides, in a few moments’ time, she will be fast asleep—always turned away from him, for one reason or another. 

Shaking his head, Roman reaches out to prod her teasingly— 

—and a terribly cold air encompasses his finger instead. 

**Day ???**

A Nevermore screech jerks him from the comforting silence of sleep. It sounds close—closer than comfort will allow. His eyes dart this way and that, desperate to make out some form of movement in the shadows of dawn; it is in this fleeting moment that realization settles in his mind, and a single gloved hand feels blindly to his right. 

He touches hard stone. 

Red is gone, 

And for a moment, his breath catches in his throat. 

Is there any inkling of possibility that a Grimm got to her—? It seems unlikely, he thinks with a hard swallow; there is no blood, no sign of struggle, and what Grimm would devour her and leave him be? It defies simple logic. The thought bears itself on his shoulders, heavy and encompassing, as he slowly cups his mouth with his fingers in disbelief. 

Ruby actually had the gall to leave him for dead. 

Another screech jars him from his reverie, and a single, humored sob rattles his deteriorating body. The irony of it all hits him hard. Ruby Rose, Little Red—Miss Goody Two-Shoes herself—dangling his life before Death by a fraying string. It’s _hilarious_. Another short laugh. Another. A fourth—echoing on and on into oblivion until another screech cuts it short. 

It won’t be long until the Grimm are upon him, now. 

Shaking his head, he plucks a lighter from his pocket and raises it to the cigar now hanging from his lips. Eaten by a Grimm… not his first choice, but not the worst way to go. Not pleasant by any means, but better than burning alive at Cinder’s hands. A tiny frown tugs at his lips. No doubt Cinder is still alive, somewhere out there… 

… Could the same be said for Red? 

His hands fall behind him as he leans his full weight on his palms. At this point, he might as well welcome— 

—Rose petals? 

Green eyes flit downward to spot the bed of black roses— _thornless roses_ —now nestled ‘round his frame. The cigar nearly drops from his lips as his jaw goes slack. Those weren’t there a moment ago… How did…? 

He buries his fingers in the flowers beside him, clutching at their velvety black petals with a vice grip as realization slowly registers in his head. She did this. This is _all_ her doing—the time illusions, the roses, the lack of physicality—his heart begins to race, his mind hazing over in a frenzy. It suddenly all makes too much sense, and yet, he cannot seem to make sense of any of it. She was never on that shore for Jaune. 

She’s been here for _him_ all along. 

_“Ruby!”_

A Griffon lands suddenly at his feet, mouth parted in a vicious roar that tremors the air around him. And as he feels something sharp rake down his middle, Roman swears he spots a flash of raging crimson a few feet away. 

The hysteria falls from his face, and with a last puff of smoke, he, too, fades to black.

**Author's Note:**

> (If you would like, you may [follow me on tumblr](http://quarrelswithquills.tumblr.com/). For anyone looking for clarification on some things (because this writing method was experimental and I don't think it necessarily worked) [here is a clearer synopsis/analysis](http://quarrelswithquills.tumblr.com/post/140280483881/hi-so-i-read-your-new-story-i-kind-of-understand)).)


End file.
